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A "DOWN AND OUTER'S" STORY 



—OF THE— 



AND OTHER POEMS 



A Message From Out 
the Waters 



By 
F. CURTIS ADAMS 



PRICE SO CBISTS 







4 



Hi 







"At upper windows, scarce above the tide, 
Women and children wrung their hands and cried." 



"A Down and Outer's" 

Story of the Flood 

and Other Poems 




By 

Frederick Curtis Adams 



Copyrighted 
1913 



753^0 



Jlz 



I^ 



}^i^ 



TpRUSTING that in the hour of 
temptation, the recollection of 
this little work may help him to 
refrain from taking the first drink, 
I dedicate this book to my son, 
Lester Adams. 



aA346789 



^ttUtt to tSe **2Doton and flDutct'j5'' 

Story of the Flood and other poems. 



To the public : 

The greater number of the poems included in this 
little work have never before appeared in print. They 
were written at widely different dates, purely as pas- 
time and for love of metrical arrangement. 

"The Death of the Nation's Hero" was written 
while General Grant lay in state at New York, in 1885. 
''Scene from a City Window" was composed the fol- 
lowing year at Buffalo, New York. Three para- 
graphs of ''The Will-o'-the-Wisp" were written in 
1889, the last two in 1912. "At Armageddon," during 
the recent campaign of the progressive party. 

In this age of prose it may seem presumptuous to 
ask the public to consider a collection of verse, but 
the taste for metrical arrangement is sleeping, not 
dead, and without any apology to the shades of 
Shakespeare and Schiller I present this little volume 
to the consideration of the readers of to-day, hoping 
that it may meet with their favor. 

F. C. Adams, 1032 Huifman Avenue, Dayton, Ohio. 



tIEahle ot ConUnts. 



Title page 1 

Dedication 2 

Preface 3 

Table of Contents , 4 

A ''Down and Outer's" Story of the Flood 5 

The Schoolhouse en the Hill 14 

At Armageddon 17 

The Will-o'-the-Wisp . . . 18 

A City Window . . 20 

Margaret 24 

Selling Maps for Lubrecht in the 80's 26 

My Boyhood's Home 30 

On Early Death 34 

Wenona 35 

Death of the Nation's Hero. -. 37 

A Christmas Carol 40 

Jamie and Jane 42 

Lullaby 44 

Persevere 46 

The Colossal Blunder 47 

Tis Mother 49 



SL "SDoton anil €)utet'0" fe^tDtp of tfie jFIooli. 

I. 

''Gem City" may not mean so much to some, 

But when we started in to make it hom.e, 

Remember we were just beginning Hfe 

And Dayton seemed a gem to me and wife. 

'Tis true that foundry work ain't down-right pleasure 

And wouldn't zackly suit a man of leisure, 

But when you're working for a sweetheart bride 

The sweat don't count, and grime don't hurt your pride. 

II. 

That first year was a paradise of bliss, 

Ten hours of toil twixt morn and evening kiss ; 

If Time for m.e could only choose a span, 

A twelve month space o'er which it one time ran, 

And for all future time bring o'er and o'er 

Review of minutes, hours, and days of yore, 

I'd fondly seize that year of all my life 

That honeymoon of joy for me and wife. 

III. 

You wonder why the years that followed this 
Don't measure up to that short term of bliss ; 
You'd think that when our group increased to three 
That would have added joy for wife and me. 
That sentiment's correct ; it should apply 
And when it don't, there's sure a reason why ; 
Whenever home-life joy don't grow with years 
There's some abnormal cause for grief and tears. 



IV. 

I've started in to tell this story through 
And though it hurts, I'm going to tell it true ; 
''A spade's a spade" and this one dug a grave, 
I'll speak it such and then forbearance crave. 
'Twasn't Providence that entered at our door 
And brought us down to poverty and more ; 
The devil may have aimed the deadly blow 
But rum was what produced the bitter woe. 



V. 

A downward road is easy from the start, 
The first glass is the glass that breaks the heart ; 
'Twixt heaven and hell there's just a little space, 
To gloom from glory there's no halting place. 
Boys, if you're on the mount, don't tempt the slope. 
Along the incline slide there'si little hope ; 
Bew^are the tempter ! Know him at his worst ; 
Strong drink's a mocker ! Shun it from the first. 

VI. 

I never shall forget the sad surprise 

That came and lingered in those loving eyes, 

That first night when I staggered through the door 

And spoke in tones I'd never used before; 

She didn't start no row, nor even chide, 

But there was something that she couldn't hide ; 

Dazed as I was, I couldn't help but see 

The lip that trembled when she spoke to me. 



VII. 

Next morning when I kissed away her tear 
The promise that I made w^as quite sincere. 
And I'd have wagered all I had, I think, 
That I would never take another drink ; 
But every time I got the smell of rum 
That slumbering, cursed appetite would come, 
2\nd when you break a promise, o'er and o'er, 
You don't just feel like making one no more. 

VIII. 

Occasionallv drunk don't count so much, 
Of course it sears affection, love, and such. 
It changes all that's tender 'til it's tough 
And gouges out the smooth until it's rough ; 
But when my baby girl was coming three, 
Occasional had got permanent for me, 
The gear controlling will had slipped its cog, 
I'd lost my self-respect, likewise my job. 

IX. 

The cosy home that we had once called ovu's, 

That then had teemed with music, books, and flowers, 

Had shared in the toboggan slide with me 

And didn't stand a wreck of what it used to be ; 

No picture, book, nor carpet as of old. 

Our cherished Starr piano had been sold, 

And in our latest move we'd come to stay 

In three bare rooms above an alley way. 



X. 

That Easter Sabbath seems a blank to me — 
The night before Td come in from my spree, 
In drunken sleep I passed the live-long day 
While chiming bells called Christians forth to pray. 
Toward Monday noon I staggered to my feet, 
Through drenching rain I reeled along the street, 
A burning thirst consumed my soul and life, 
The dime I grasped Td stolen from my wife. 

XI. 

I went home half way sober on that night, 
For lack of funds had helped to keep me right ; 
On rainy days small jobs don't come your way, 
Nor whiskey 'less youVe got the price to pay. 
In ugly mood my door I flung aside, , 
And this is something like the scene I spied: 
Near the old couch on which the baby lay 
In fevered pain, the mother knelt to pray. 

XII. 

A ^^down and outer's" heart's not easy broke. 
So when I stepped inside the room and spoke, 
My voice didn't take on any anxious note 
Nor give out tender words as I can quote; 
And when my wife showed tendency to tears, 
I started in to talk away her fears, 
Which didn't work, for still she sat and cried, 
Asitting by the moaning baby's side. 

8 



XIII. 

I seem to hear her trembhng voice again 
Above the beating of the fahing rain, 
'Tlusband, dear husband, baby's very ill" — 
Take notice how affection lingered still — 
''The doctor came this afternoon at four 
And left some medicine, but we need more;" 
And then she held a paper out to me, 
Prescription literature as I could see. 

XIV. 
'T'm broke," I grumbled, then without a frown 
She took the ragged old portemonnaic down, 
And counted out a dollar, all she had. 
And which I knew she'd ought to have kept for bread, 
And which I also knew she'd earned a rubbing 
Upon a washboard, or perhaps a scrubbing ; 
Areaching for that coin, I want to vow 
I felt I'd reached the lowest limit now. 

XV. 

I rushed out doors not caring for the rain. 

My guilty conscience driving me insane. 

The drenching down-pour didn't drown my shame. 

The roaring river seemed to laugh my name. 

My damning guilt seemed more than I could bear ; 

I passed a drug store, rushing whither ? where ? 

Restrain your pity now, whoe'er you are, 

I dashed my wife's last dollar on the bar. 



XVI. 

From that time on my memory's indistinct, 
I don't remember taking the last drink, 
I didn't choose the corner where I lav 
Throughout the night and into the next day ; 
A friendly kick compelled me to arise, 
I woke from state of stupor to surprise. 
The cries of men and women filled the air. 
The roar of waters sounded everyw^here. 

XVII. 
As others rushed away to higher floor 
I burst my way through trembling outer door, 
A w^all of water met me at the street 
And swept me for an instant from my feet ; 
I rose again and with a mad man's power 
I charged the seething waters for an hour; 
I fought on fiercely, battling for life, 
Not for my own, for baby and for wife. 

XVIII. 
One time the floating driftwood saved from death, 
Again a blow deprived me of my breath. 
But yet again I plunged into the wave 
Courting, what seemed mv fate, a watery grave; 
I know not how I lived throughout that strife, 
Nor what preserved my wrecked and worthless life. 
Unless perhaps mv expiation dire 
Unsatisfied, was to be made entire. 

10 



XIX. 

The rising water came with wilder force, 
Often I changed my frenzied, onward course ; 
Now swept by current, Hife seemed ahnost spent, 
Yet ever on and onward still I went. 
Sometimes debris and lumber footing lent. 
Then leaping, swimming, on and on I went — 
Before my eyes three wretches in a boat 
Capsized and drowned ; upturned the skiif f , afloat 
Offered me hope ; I strove with frenzied strength 
Through foaming flood, I reached its prow at length. 

XX. 

For long I struggled gainst the current's force. 

Striving to change the boat's swift onward course ; 

A reeling house fell right across its way. 

With swift impact the boat along side lay. 

Braced 'gainst the house I strove with main and might. 

Succeeded at last; the boat again upright 

Gave me a respite for a little space, 

Weary and spent, I rested from my race. 

XXI. 

A mile of angry waters, fierce and wild. 
Raged now betwixt me and my wife and child ; 
Not long I rested but, with strength renewed. 
Sprang to my feet, with purpose firm imbued ; 
I wrenched from the wrecked house a board in twain, 
Wounding a hand but thinking naught of pain ; 
That rude propeller served me well that day. 
And thus I started on riy dangerous way. 

11 



XXII. 

Avoiding streets where swiftest currents roared, 
I plied with might the strong but bending board ; 
Ofttimes the wreckage of that tragic day 
Restrained and changed my devious onward way. 
Mid scenes of ruin stern, my boat prevailed; 
Though dangers oft the struggling craft assailed, 
X^ow current swept when all my strength was vain — 
Then by some miracle preserved again. 

XXIII. 
At upper windows, scarce above the tide. 
Women and children wrung their hands and cried, 
Waving some garment to attract my eye. 
Hoping for succor as my skiff drew nigh. 
Horses swam, snorting, 'til their strength gave away, 
Brute anguish spoke the horrors of that day ; 
X^ot heeding aught, I grimly persevered 
Until at last my alley home I neared. 

XXIV. 

Great heaps of floating wreckage choked the alley quite, 

And there my starting eyes beheld a sight 

Which caused a sudden choking at my throat, 

Then I sank limp and fainting in the boat ; 

Wedged in among some scantling from a shed, 

I recognized my baby's humble bed ; 

Yet as I fell my vision traveled on — 

The sagging house that held my home was gone. 

12 



XXV. 

My story's done, what matter to relate 

How I was rescued in my fainted state, 

Why dwell upon my terrible despair ! 

That scene ! The morgue ! Let's drop the curtain there. 

A "down-and-outer's" heart is hard to reach, 

To you not down and out I want to preach 

I'his little sermon : ''Don't keep on the grade ; 

Stop where you are before the price is paid/' 



13 



U5e &c&oDl6PU0e on tfie ^ill 

I. 

Unpainted sides that time had lent 

A weather-beaten hue ; 
A blackened roof where storms had spent 

Their furies, not a few ; 
A chimney stack, with grimy crack ; 

A hewn and sagging sill ; 
With inner eye, I still descry 

That schoolhouse on the hill. 

II. 

Through windows with old-fashioned panes 

Set in the old grey sash 
'Gainst which, ofttimes, the beating rain 

Would, with mad fury, dash. 
With hottest rays, in summer days, 

Would us poor urchins grill 
That tyrant bright that furnished light 

To the schoolhouse on the hill. 

III. 

In winter, when Boreas' gale, 

Swept down from northern seas. 
And Jack Frost, snow, and ice, and hail 

Did all that landscape seize ; 
With stinging sense of cold, intense, 

In realm of cheerless chill ; 
I used to work, like a frozen Turk, 

In that schoolhouse on the hill. 

14 



IV. 

In retrospect I see once more 

The desks of spruce, the seat, 
The blackboard, the unpainted floor, 

Worn thin by rustic feet ; 
The rostrum small, the pencilled wall, 

And, with proverbial quill. 
Each man and maid, whom the township paid 

At the schoolhouse on the hill. 

V. 

On one side were the blooming girls. 

Green mountains' rarest flowers. 
With braided locks, or pendant curls, 

Fit game for Cupid's powers ; 
Across that aisle, the sunny smile 

Did oft the bosoms thrill, 
Of us awkward boys, who mingled joys 

In the schoolhouse on the hill. 

VI. 

I see also, the ferule grim 

That the teachers often used 
On tingling hand, or blistered limb, 

When we, the rules abused ; 
When a pedagogue began to flog. 

He sought to cure or kill, 
As he plied the gad on some luckless lad. 

In that schoolhouPe on the hill. 

15 



VII. 
The fleeting years have changes wrought 

For those who gathered there ; 
Sad years for some, with troubles fraught, 

And grief, and toil, and care ; 
For many more who have gone before 

My eyes with moisture fill, 
As my memory strays to those happy days. 

In the schoolhouee on the hill. 

VIII. 
I know not if that house still stands, 

On site of years ago ; 
Or if more costly hall commands 

That spot I used to know ; 
But if such be true, I'll cling to you. 

Til this throbbing pulse be still ; 
Naught else can grace that sacred place. 

But thee, schoolhouse oh the hill. 



16 



Sit Sitmastt^hon. 

Who stands in glistening armour bright, 
Indued with conquering, righteous might, 
Prepared to make historic fight 
Against the wrong and for the right, 
At Armageddon ! 

See to the left, and to the right, 
With helmet, lance, and shield bedight. 
That myriad host their ranks unite 
And, joyful, come their faith to plight 
At Armageddon. 

Army and leader ! goodly sight ! 
For wrong now lowers darkest night. 
Prepare your craven host for flight, 
San Juan will be exceeded quite, 
At Armageddon. 

Rejoice free-men ! behold the light ! 
Back to its glorious pristine height. 
That hero in Jehovah's might 
Will boldly reestablish right 
At Armageddon. 



I. 

One midnight hour on fairy down, near Memphre 

magog's shore, 
'Neath Owl's Head's frown and beetling lower 
'O Nimbus hurtling o'er 
On Hallowe'en, on haunted green, 
Where babbling runnels crisp, 
I tempted the power o' the place and the hour 
And the will o' the will-o'-the-wisp. 

H. 

The night owl's screech, from, the wooded peak, 

'O Owl's Head's frowning height 

Seemed to me to speak, with the eerie speech 

'O the ghosts o' the haunted night ; 

The croak o' the frog through the pale, grey fog, 

And the elfin crickets' lisp 

Seem to strengthen the power o' the place and the hour 

And the will o' the will-o'-the-wisp. 

HI. 

Through fen and brake, over hill and dale 

I followed it through the dark, 

From wooded vale to shore o' lake 

Danced on the flitting spark. 

'Tis Hallowe'en, on this haunted green 

I heard a runnel lisp. 

At this magical hour, you must yield to the power 

O' the will o' the will-o'-the-wisp. 

18 



IV. 

Many years have flown since that gruesome night 
When I rushed through that haunted place, 
When that phantom hght made me all its own 
And bewitched in that wild mad race; 
Yet I still can hear the north wind, drear, 
Lash the leaves that were dead and crisp, 
As in that weird hour, when a slave o' the power 
O' the will o' the will-o'-the-wisp. 

V. 

On October night of each passing year. 

When all gnomes their fetters break, 

Once again I hear, in its awful might. 

The sough o' that haunted lake; 

My pulse it bounds, at the self-same sounds, 

The screech and the croak and the lisp, 

Oh, the awe at that hour o' the slave o' the power, 

O' the will o' the will-o'-the-wisp. 



19 



Si Citp flZaintioto. 

From my half-open lattice, I look 

Out from my hidden seat, 
Down through the dust and the smoke ; 

Down to the busy street ; 
Down to the home of the desolate ; 
Look and listen and meditate. 



Buildings of brick and of wood 
Compass the dirty walks ; 

Awnings in front, where have stood 
For ages, the wooden box. 

Cask and casket and keg, full ' 

Of fruit and berries and vegetable. 

There, a striped red and white pole 

Locates a. barber's shop; 
Close by the window, a bowl, 

Razor, and razor strop ; 
Also a placard : "Xo trust here, sir," 
Seek to entrap a cash customer. 

All overhead the blue sky, 

Cloudless, ethereal. 
Spreads ; near the zenith, on high, 

Blazing, imperial. 
Rolls the sun ! A badge of the 
Great Creator's majesty. 

20 



Out in the dust and dirt, 

Whooping and hallooing, 
With tattered trousers and shirt, 

A yelping pup following, 
Frisk two miniature street ruffians, 
A great city's raggedest ragamuffins. 

Hatless, with dirt-matted hair; 

Locks that might curly be. 
Doubtless, if tended with care 

And pride, at a mother's knee ; 
Poor urchins ! Waifs of adversity ! 
What was birth, but a curse to thee? 

A saloon stands just over the way, 

At the door a fat bar-keeper 
Lounges, as wanting to say, 

''Free lunch, with lager beer." 
Bloated and bleared, a fit siign-board, 
His person ; why hang out the wine-gourd ? 

Hatless, with dirt-draggled clothes, 

Reeling, and staggering, 
With bleared eyes and rum-blossomed nose, 

A swearing and swaggering 
Victim of lager and liquor. 
Comes stumbling into my picture. 

21 



Close after his staggering feet, 
With brick-bat and wooden block, 

Our miniature roughs of the street, 
And more, of the same stock, 

Are following, pelting, and chaffing, 

''The sign-board" has seen and is laughing. 

Now he has tripped and is down, 

Flat in the dirty street. 
Rollicking fun for the town ! 

Don't help him on his feet ! 
Don't lend a hand ! Give a kick instead. 
There, that's the way. Sooner done than said ! 

Down in the dirt and the dust ! 

Sad sight to look upon ! 
His wife may not see it, I trust, 

Nor parent, nor little one. 
Look on and laugh ! The sight's pretty, men ! 
His wife and his children ! God pity them ! 

A pompous policeman appears ; 

Urchins evaporate ! 
Don't like the clothes that he wears ; 

Hence, as 't is getting late. 
Make a cross-cut for another street. 
On the lookout for some other treat. 

The policeman secures his prey ; 

''Sign-board" retires ; 
They're lighting the lights 'cross the way ; 

Daylight expires. 
My lattice is closed, and my picture 
Is gone ; 't was a strangely sad mixture. 

22 



How many young boys, of these times, 
Are street-nurtured vagabonds ! 

Can nothing be done to redeem 
These poor Httle ragged ones? 

If not rescued soon, they will quickly be 

Swamped in the sea of iniquity. 

Too many policemen, each hour, 

Drag off the inebriate. 
While bar-tenders, safe from their power, 

Stand laughing in glee at it. 
Come, step to the pane, legislators, 
With lattice thrown back, be spectators. 



n 



I. 

One June day, at Broadway, 

The strangest thing occurred ; 
Tve wondered a hundred 

Times why that awkward bird 
Came stalking, and walking 

Along that village street, 
And came straight to my gate 

With little Margaret. 

II. 

The ungainly stork plainly 

Had business at our door. 
For straddling and waddling 

A bundle swung before. 
He came on the front lawn, 

Where I the strange thing met, 
With no thought that he brought 

A tiny Margaret. 

HI. 

With no word, that great bird 

His dainty bundle dropped, 
Then straightway through gate-way 

He strode and never stopped. 
I looked toward the greensward 

Where cosy at my feet, 
Just peeping from sleeping 

Lav babv Margaret. 



24 



IV. 

I've not heard from that bird 

Since that eventful day, 
But if I should him spy 

These w^ords I'll to him say 
'That gift that you left 

We are loving fondly yet, 
Oh, long may w^ith us stay 

Our darling Margaret." 



idling filpapsj tot EufttecSt in t^e '80*0. 

I. 

In looking back to boyhood's days, 

In retrospective mood, 
Swift visions of the past come sweeping o'er me ; 

The home Hfe and the homely ways, 
The meadow and the wood, 

Arise in memory, each, and pass before me. 
The farming of the stony soil, 

The lumber hauled to mill, 
Long summer days in haying. 

Or a working with a will, 
A gathering sap from maple trees ; 

But much more vivid still 
Is the 
Selling maps for Lubrecht in the '80's. 

11. 
Now passing from the dear old home 

And schoolhouse on the hill, 
The academic days claim recollection. 

'Midst those loved scenes let memory roam 
And linger as it wnll ; 

Those visions are most pleasant retrospections — 
The burning of the midnight oil . 

For Greek or Latin lore. 
The writing compositions, trite, 

Which some might think a bore. 
Debates ! The games ! These thrill me, yet 

How much exceeding more 
Though the 
Selling maps for Lubrecht in the '80's. 

26 



III. 

'Twas May when the vacation came, 

And I with sample map 
Fared forth to test Dame Fortune's fickle favoi 

To gather funds my worthy aim — 
That this Green Mountain chap 

Need not from seeking education waver. 
The country had prosperity 

With Arthur in the chair, 
The times were quite auspicious, 

There was labor everywhere ; 
And every one had money 

Which made business pretty fair 
For me 
Selling maps for Lubrecht in the '80's. 



IV. 

I wonder if those maps I sold 

Are in existence still, 
Now hanging on the walls of those who own them 

Or whether they perchance now mould 
In attics damp and chill, 

Forgotten by the people who had known them. 
The mansion and the humble cot, 

The schoolhouse, the hotel, 
The many gabled farm-house 

And the log hut, too, as well, 
I had no respect for premises 

So long as I could sell 
In my 
Selling maps for Lubrecht in the '80's. 

27 



V. 

The faces of the men I sold 

Now gallop through my mind 
Like the panoramic films of pictured story. 

Strange mingling of the manifold 
Physiques of every kind, 

From the youth of tenderest years to patriarch 
hoary. 
The giant of the lumber wood. 

The toiler at the mill, 
The settler in the forest, 

And the farmer on the hill ; 
The teacher and the student, , 

And the tender of the kiln 
Staked me 
Selling maps for Lubrecht in the '80's.^ 

VI. 

The places that I roamed through 

In kaleidoscopic maze 
Come and mingle like grotesque but vivid dreaming. 

Once more they seem before my view, 
On each I fondly gaze, 

Not in fact, but just in meditative seeming. 
The densely wooded forests, 

And the placid smiling gleam. 
In that wild New England country. 

Of the lakelet or the stream ; 
And the darkly frowning mountains 

Come and make the present seem 
Like the 
Selling maps for Lubrecht in the '80's. 

28 



VII. 

Oh! the youth and the ambition 

That inspired that golden day, 
In the light to win a college education. 

The school boy earned tuition, 
Each may earn it as he may 

Represents the richest, sweetest compensation. 
Boys, the future lies before you, 

There's a way if there's a will, 
To a brave and sturdy manhood 

Any mountain's but a hill. 
If you boldly hail Dame Fortune, 

You your purse will amply fill 
Like me 
Selling maps for Lubrecht in the '80's. 



29 



I. 

Come back again, oh, happy days of childhood, 

Come back and bring your hours of joy and mirth, 
Bring back, again, the hillside and the wiWwood 

And bring appreciation of their worth. 
Bring once again those happy, careless hours. 

When I bounded o'er the hills in quest of flowers. 
Or through the meadow or the pathless wilds of 
forest, days of happy childhood come. 

Come back and bring my home, my boyhood's home. 

11. 

My home ! The same old farm-house still is standing 

'Pon the same site as im those other days. 
The wood-fire smoke from the same roof ascending, 

Upon the same hearth glows the ruddy blaze. 
The self-same lakelet lies beneath the hill-side. 

And o'er its placid sheen the ripples still glide 
In resplendent beauty, when the moon 

Peers, through the rustling poplar trees, and gloom 
Of coming night, yet say not this is home, my boy- 
hood's home. 

III. 

Why does this dear old farm-house not invite me? 

Why does my heart not yearn to seek this spot ? 
Why is it that I do not hasten, lightly 

Back to those scenes, with pleasant memories 
fraught ? 
With pleasant memories ! Yes, indeed, they seem 

Too pleasant to be aught else than a dream ; 

30 



I seem to live again those happy hours 

Of days gone by ! Oh happy home once more 
You're back again ; I see you as of yore. 

IV. 

Now on the broad verandah I am lying, 

I hear again the patter of the rain 
Upon the roof. I see the barn-fowls hieing 

To the shelter of the shed from out the grain. 
With book in hand I see my father sitting, 

And seated by his side my mother, knitting. 
With face illumed wnth tenderness and love, and 
gathered close around to hear him read 

Brothers and sisters. This is home indeed. 



V. 

'Tis a winter's eve. Without, the winds are blowing, 

Within, a happy circle 'bout the fire — 
A cheery blaze ! I see my father throwing 

More fuel on ! I see the flames leap higher, 
I hear the burning cinders crack and snap, 

And crackle as the yellow flame. tongues lap 
The added fuel and wreathe and twine like living 
forms ; I hear the kitten purr 

His love for sister as she strokes his glossy fur. 

VI. 

Thrice happy home ! Thrice happily united, 

Bound by the bonds, contentment, faith, and love ; 

By cheerful face of loving parents lighted. 

Endowed with bounteous blessings from above. 

31 



Home of my youth I ask no other pleasure, 
No other joy! I'll seek no other treasure 
Than is found in thee ! Father and mother in their 
place ! Oh, joy once more I roam, 
Light hearted o'er my native hills ! Aly home ! My 
boyhood's home. 

VII. 

But what is this? Ah, bitter recollections, 

Why do you bring your poisonous alloy 
To dissipate my happy retrospections 

And drive away my soul's ecstatic joy? 
Why do you fling your deadly poisoned dart 

Into my dream? Why will you not depart 
To whence you came, and leave me to enjoy a while 

Oblivion's balm? Bring not your bitter pain! 
Begone ! Depart ! Alas, in vain ! In vain ! 

VIII. 
How changed the scene ! I see the anxious face. 
The silent midnight watch, the darkened room, 
The grave physicians moving 'bout the place, 

The whispering lips ; the heavy awful gloom, 
I feel again the terrible suspense. 

The fear ! The hope ! O God ! and the intense 
Wild anguish of those parting scenes, and last sad 
hours. 
Those scenes are fled ! I roam 
Once more afar, with heavy heart, from home — my 
boyhood's home. 

32 



IX. 

Come back again, oh, happy days of childhood, 

Come back and bring your hours of joy and mirth 
Bring back again, the hillside and the wildwood, 

And bring appreciation of their worth. 
Bring once again those happy careless hours, 

When I bounded o'er the hills in quest of flowers, 
Or through the meadow or the pathless wilds 

Of forests. Days of happy childhood come. 
Come back and bring my home — my boyhood's home. 



3i 



I. 

The blooming of the hly bud 

Portends the fading flower, 
The rising of the morning sun 

Suggests a sunset hour; 
The infancy of human life 

Predicts departing breath ; 
What matters if there be no noon, 

E'er we encounter death? 

II. 

Is life's probation easy 

That we fain would nuirmur, "Stay," 
When God selects the choicest flower 

And taketh it away? 
No summer's sun to be endured ! 

Nor winter's frost, nor snow ! 
How favored are the blossoms, rare. 

That only spring-time know ! 



34 



aaienona. 



I. 



In sunny June, one morning, 

Of nineteen hundred three, 
A httle boat was seen afloat, 

Made from a willow tree. 
It came floating, floating, floating — 

Between the bluffs so high, 
Came floating down to Winona town 

On the great Mississippi. 

11. 

Now mamma went out walking, 

That sunny morn in June, 
By the river wide, and by her side 

I sang a merry tune. 
We spied the Httle willow boat, 

Come floating near the land ; 
With a maple bough we caught the prow 

And drew it on the sand. 

III. 

And curled up at the bottom, 

A tiny girl we found. 
Dressed all in white with lilies bright 

As fairy babes are gowned. 
There fast asleep, the baby lay, 

Her lips all wreathed in smiles. 
With a little wand in her dimpled hand, 

A reed from the fairy isles. 

33 



IV. 

We raised the babe from her fairy bed 

And took her in our arms, 
And fairies came and spoke her name 

And pronounced the fairy charms. 
Thev called her name ''Wenona," 

"First girl," in Dakota tongue, 
Then they danced away with laughter gay 

As the noon day bells were rung. 



36 



2Drat[) of t^e Ration ^no. 

I. 

Haul down yon starry banner and sew crape amid 
its fold, 

Mingle black among the white and blue and red ; 
Now hang it back at half mast ; there, steady ! leave it 
so, 

For its savior, General Grant, is lying dead. 
Then let us as a nation come and stand beside his bier, 

Let us scatter fragrant flowers about his head, 
And as we linger near, let us shed a silent tear 

For the patriot and soldier who is dead. 

II. 

Halt there ! ye sturdy veteran ! Lay down that fife 
and drum, 

Change for a while your heavy martial tread ; 
Step softly as you come and let your lips be dumb, 

Your beloved general, Grant, is lying dead. 
Then with us as a nation come and gather at his bier, 

With us scatter fragrant flowers about his head. 
And as we linger near, with us shed a silent tear 

For your leader and our hero who is dead. 

HI. 

Come, all ye Southern soldiers, who at Appomattox 
stood, 

Where words of peace and unity were said ; 
Leave for a little time your Southern sunny clime, 

Your generouF-hearted conqueror is dead. 

37 



Yes, with a common sorrow, let us gather at his bier, 
Let us scatter fragrant flowers about his head, 

And as we Hnger near, let us shed a silent tear, 
For America's great soldier who is dead. 

IV. 

And you, too, son of Africa, from bonds forever 
freed. 
Bow down in grief your sable, wooley head ; 
Hush for a while your song, don't you hear that muf- 
fled gong? 
Your liberator, Grant, is lying dead. 
Yes! you must come and join us, come softly to his 
bier, 
And help us scatter flowers about his head. 
And as 3^011 linger near, drop with us a silent tear, 
For your champion and our hero who is dead. 

V. 

Hush ! silence, foreign nations ! suspend your busy toil, 

And stand to-day with bowed, uncovered heads ; 
Let sadly tolling bell the general sorrow tell. 

Illustrious General Grant is lying dead. 
Although you may not join us, send your tribute to 
his bier. 

Send us wreathes of fragrant flowers to deck his 
head. 
And though you are not near, you too can shed a tear. 

For the world-renowned commander who is dead. 

38 



VI. 

What ! dead this famous hero, can it be that this is 
true ! 

Nay, stop, remember Him who plainly said, 
As he bade the mourner nigh, to dry the weeping eye, 

''The maiden only sleeps, she is not dead." 
Then let us as a nation come and stand beside his bier, 

Let us scatter fragrant flowers about his head, 
But as we linger near, let us stanch the flowing tear. 
And believe that though he sleeps, he is not dead. 



39 



SL CfitistmajS Carol. 

I. 

The Christmastide is drawing nigh, 

That time of all the year, 
When bovs and girls and grown folks, too, 

Invoke the Christmas cheer; 
Gay groups send out the joyous shout, 

Brightly the yule-fire glows, 
All sing with glee, excepting me, 

I've a carbuncle on my nose. 

11. 

Should you encounter "Nicolas," 

Old "Santa Claus" of fame, 
At headquarters in the northland, 

Where those borealis flame ; 
Or meet his sleigh upon the way, 

Just hail him as he goes. 
Tell him to fetch some salve and "sech,'' 

For this carbuncle on my nose. 

III. 

It mayn't be right to dictate 

To our saint of gifts and things, 
Oh, ril accept an auto 

Or just anything he brings ; 
But if he's short on the other sort 

And my little mandate goes. 
Tell him to haste with some salve or paste 

For this carbuncle on my nose. 

40 



IV. 
I've no appetite for turkey, 

That food that always cheers, 
I'll admit I've made a record 

At such feasts of other years ; 
But it's ''face about" I'm down and out, 

It's another of my woes, 
i have to sigh as they pass the pie, 

'TVe a carbuncle on my nose." 

V. 

I hit there! don't let me mar the plot. 

Just let the joy bells ring, 
■'Peace on earth, good will to men," 

T.et all the people sing ; 
!^ hout old and young, with a joyful tongue, 

As the Christmas fervor glows ! 
But leave me out of the song and the shout : 

Oh, you carbuncle on my nose! 

December 23, 1911 



41 



3Iamie anli 3Iane. 

The hours are long, my Hfe is lone, 
I'm waiting for my lad to come ; 
All happiness has long since flown, 
I'm waiting for my lad ; 
Oh, tell me, must I always wait. 
Can I ne'er know a happier fate. 
Must I forever wait and wait, 
Will laddie never come? 

Chorus 
Will my laddie never come back. 
Shall I never see him again, 
Alas ! Shall I never be able to learn 
To endure this waiting in vain? 
Oh, Jamie, my laddie, return to your Jane, 
Oh, laddie ! My laddie ! come back. 

II. 

Bright was the day when long ago 
Awaiting for my lad to come, 
I sat beside the cottage door 
Awaiting for my lad ; 
He came and said a fond good-bye 
And kissed the tear that dimmed my eye, 
And, laughing, bade me not to sigh. 
Till laddie came again. 
Chorus 

42 



III. 

That day he sailed, and since that hour, 
Awaiting for my lad to come, 
Fve waited, w^atched, and watching prayed 
Awaiting for my lad ; 
The ship that bore him from my side, 
To stormy sea and treacherous tide, 
Ne'er came again and still I 'bide — 
Will laddie never come? 
Chorus 



43 



EuIIabp. 

I 

Baby is safe, mamma's guarding her treasure, 

Rock-a-bye, rock-a-bye, rock ; 
Singing bye, rock-a-bye, rock-a-bye, baby, 

Rock-a-bye, rock-a-bye, rock ; 
Alamma has dressed her in rock-a-bye ck)lhcs. 
In dear Httle nighty she's sweet as a rose, 
Snug in the rocking chair, now baby goes, 

Rock-a-bye, rock-a-bye, rock. 

Chorus 
We'll go rcckety, rockety rock, rock, 
Rockety, rockety, rock ; 
We'll go rockety, rocketv, rock, rock, rock, 
We'll go rockety, rockety, rockety rock, 
Rockety, rockety rock. 
We'll go rock, rock, rock. 

11. 

Those dear little eyelids are drooping and closing, 

Rock-a-bye, rock-a-bye, rock ; 
Baby will soon be in slumber reposing, 

Rock-a-bye, rock-a-bye, rock; 
Thou who canst silence the storms of the deep. 
From peril and danger protect her and, keep, ' 

Is the prayer mamma prays as she sings her to sleep, 

Rock-a-bye, rock-a-bye, rock. 

Chorus 

44 



III. 

That old wooden chair that rocked baby to slumber, 

Rock-a-bye, rock-a-bye, rock; 
Shall fondly be cherished through years without 
number, 

Rock-a-bye, rock-a-bye, rock; 
And when baby's mamma shall sit with white hair, 
Encumbered with years in that same wooden chair, 
Her thoughts will oft turn to that lullaby air, 

Rock-a-bye, rock-a-bye, rock. 

Chorus 



45 



I. 

This earthly Hie is short, 

Persevere ; 
Be careful what you start. 

Offer prayer. 
Then when you're sure you're right 
Press on with all your might, 
You'll conquer in the fight^ 

Persevere. 

II. 

Have you a task begun? 

Persevere ; 
It's half done if well begun. 

So take cheer. 
Success will soon be yours 
Now you're grappled with the oars. 
If you'll only keep your course, 

Persevere. 

III. 

Are you burdened with a cross? 

Persevere : 
That will not prove a loss, 

Onward steer. 
Then when your journey's done, 
You may count a victory won. 
You've the promise of a crown. 

Persevere. 



46 



. I. 

The manhood of Dayton assemble to-day, 

There's an ominous hush in the air ; 
The clergy are present and also the lay, 

A secular few, too, are there. 
These men of this town wear an ominous frown, 

They are ''mad" and it's not any wonder, 
For men who are men, can cuss righteously when 

They're incensed by a colossal blunder. 

II. 
A town devastated by fire and flood, 

And deluged with mire and debris, 
Has a filth that is ranker and fouler than mud. 

Foisted forth from the powers that be. 
In indignant demur, these good citizens stir 

As the orators, charged with Jove's thunder, 
And Demosthenes' might, champion down trodden 
right 

And inveigh 'gainst the colossal blunder. 

III. 

They rehearse the sad tale of the city's distress, 

i^nd the homes' desolation and dearth. 
And in eloquent accents, they ably express 

Threatened dangers to home and to hearth. 
'Mid applause and acclaim the bold orators name 

This influence for pillage and plunder, 
That changed men at their job to a riotous moi). 

The result of a colossal blunder. 

47 



IV. 

To the man at the hehii, who, with opportune power. 

Had arranged to protect the poor city, 
And had stood at the outset, "the man of the hour," 

That such fame should dechne seems a pity, 
A committee repair, how this embassy fare, 

How their fond hopes were riven asunder, 
AVe remember too well, and the demons in hell 

Shout, ''Hurrah for the colossal blunder." 

V. 

But these men, with the spirit of Seventy-six 

Have not bowed with an air of defeat. 
They accoutre for battle, the bayonet fix. 

Though they pause, they will never retreat. 
In the name of the Lord, armed with Gideon's sword, 

Note the banner they're marshalling under, 
The free breezes toss its emblem, 'tis the cross ! 

War! War! on the colossal blunder! 



48 



Written for a mother's day program, May 11, 1913. 
I. 

Is there a heart so hardened, that no sentiment can 

melt ? 
Where never stirs an impulse, pure, nor sympathy is 

felt? 
Where only envy has a home, and bitterness and hate 
Where vice and evil have overthrown each good and 

gentle trait ; 
Lives there one soul that is immune to every sweet 

appeal. 
Deadened to all emotion thrills, such as we know and 
feel? 
No! With compelling softening might, 
Rancour and hate are put to flight, 
By one dear word, familiar, quite, 
Tis mother ! 

II. 

Home is a word that thrills the soul, causing the pulse 

to bound, 
No sweeter music than that word can anywhere be 

f ourifd ; 
No institution holier, or bound with sweeter tie«. 
No clearer recollections than from this sweet word 

arise. 
When come the strains of "home, sweet home," no 

heart that will not burn 
With fervent, deep emotion, and from baser music 

turn. 

49 



What renders mansion-house, or cot, 
The loved, the sainted, holy spot? 
Speak, son or daughter, is it not 
The mother? 

III. 

The traveler, far from native land, a while may be 

content 
'Alid changing scenes, may wander far, on fame or 

fortune bent ; 
Attracted, now may linger here, or dwell a season 

there, 
New friends amuse, pleasures allure, dispelling 

thought of care. 
Then to the wanderer's heart there comes a subtle 

strange unrest, 
A yearning, longing feeling, that can never be ex- 
pressed. 
What force compels, wdiat magnet turns 
Those footsteps l3ack, as fondly yearns 
That heart for home ? The exile learns 
'Tis mother ! 

IV. 

Sometimes an erring youth will tread the dow^nward 
path of shame. 

Forgetting precepts mother taught, e'er sin or sorrow 
came ; 

How darkly frowns the scornful world ! Xo sympa- 
thy or aid! 

Friends turn away with sneer or frown, or chide the 
error made. 

50 



When deeper sinks the recreant one, in depths of crime 

and sin, 
Is there no one who cares or strives the wandering 
one to win? 
Yes, one remains who daily prays, 
And strives the fallen one to raise 
Back to the heights of other days, 
Tis mother ! 

V. 

Our later days may be deprived of her we cherished 

so, 
Death comes to claim. No more can we on earth, her 

presence know. 
With saddened hearts we mourn a while, scarcely can 

be consoled, 
For long the sadness lingers, all the world seems dark 

and cold, ' 
But poignant grief gives way, at last ; we recognize 

God's will, 
The magnet force of mother love shall be existent still. 
Let "home, sweet home" peal forth once more, 
"Sw^eet home" is on the other shore, 
Where, standing, waiting, beckoning o'er 
Is mother. 



51 



WAY 29 1913 



3^77-1^3 
l.ot 74 





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